you say my name like it’s a prayer. like you believe in it. like its something you’ve memorised and come back to when everything else feels uncertain. you remember everything i’ve ever told you, even the things I forgot I said. you make me laugh like no one on the planet ever could. you know exactly what to do to make me smile and you always do. without fail.

“the moment you know” is always talked about. like it’s this earth shattering thing. fireworks, choirs, something straight out of a movie script. they make it seem like a declaration, a scene where everything changed and you could point it out and go “there! that’s when everything changed. that’s when I knew” but it wasn’t really like that for me. there was no music in the background. no dark setting or confession in the rain. just you, sitting beside me, messing with the sleeve of your t-shirt. saying something dumb, and suddenly I never wanted to stop hearing it.

Its not fair, you know? what gave you the power, the right to know me so entirely? what gave you the voice that can soften every fracture ive ever known? what gave you the right to be the safest place i’ve ever found? what kind of cruel magic lets you exist in a way that rewires everything I thought i understood about being alive and being loved.

I think about how none of it makes sense, really. how someone can just walk into your life and reroute the whole thing without trying. how suddenly your days are split into the ones before and the ones after. how someone elses laugh can be the best sound you know. how their silences too, can feel so full. to be understood in all your strangeness, to never be looked at like you’re too much.

I never thought I’d know what love feels like. or even be able to guess. but maybe it’s you texting me right after something happens. the way you send me pictures of a dog whenever you're with one. maybe it’s how you make me laugh no matter what, like it’s what you were made to do.

I spent my childhood being chased by you around the neighbourhood, from my house to yours and all the way back. the small tiny road that felt endless back then. the rest of my life i spent unknowingly chasing fragments of you in everyone i met. and now the only thing i run toward is the life i know we’re destined to have together.

I don’t think i’ll ever be able to write you in full. everytime i try, theres always more. another detail. another memory. another reason i love you. but i’ll keep all the rest for you, and solely for you.

I tell myself it’s normal. People slip up. Feelings change. We all contradict ourselves sometimes. But this feels different. This feels like rot.

Like there’s a parasite inside me. ruining me inside out. some twin I never asked for, twisting everything good before I can hold onto it. turning my softness into sharpness, turning love into something possessive and strange. It’s like she waits for me to get comfortable, and then she worms her way out, ripping me apart and slowly destroying everything.

This rot is quiet at first. like a small bruise under the skin of a thought; a flicker of envy, a bitter word ive swallowed, love turning sharp at the edges.
and again, you tell yourself it’s nothing, that people rot in little ways all the time.

But the thing about rot is that it tends to spread.
It coils slow, feeding on what you don’t say and what you pretend not to feel.
It wraps itself around your ribs, builds nests in your throat,
and waits.

I want to believe this thing isn’t me. I want to believe I’m better than her. anything but her. yet she wears my face and that terrifies me.

And I keep thinking if I could just reach inside and carve her out. with a knife. a shard of glass. with my bare hands if i must. and maybe I’d be free. maybe I’d stop ruining everything for myself before it has a chance to become.
But how do you cut out a part of yourself without bleeding to death?

I don’t know.
All I know is this: if I don’t fight it, get rid of it, whatever I have to do to just have this end, if I don’t stop pretending she’s just a bad day, or a bad mood, she’ll hollow me out from the inside until there’s nothing left.

But I am what festers in me.
And I am the one who survives it.

guys i have officially forgotten how to write. or maybe im just wayyyyyy too over critical!!! anywho i hope you enjoyed this! leave a comment, lets be friends. thank you so much for being here.

The kind of late where the silence is loud and daunting, like the walls are breathing and the air is heavy with words neither of us are brave enough to say.

You’re here, technically. You’re always here… technically. But it feels like trying to warm my hands over a photograph of a fire. You sit across the room like a memory I can’t scrub out, half-listening, half-gone, half-mine, if even that.

and you ask, so what do you even want?

And I laugh, because the question is absurd. Because if you have to ask, I’ve already lost. Because wanting anything at all feels like too much, and also too little.

I don’t want everything. I don’t even want a lot. All i want is for..
your eyes to meet mine and not drift past like I’m wallpaper.
your voice to hold my name like it means something.
a simple reach across the table.
a goddamn “how was your day?”

Just once.

I want you to ask me what I’m thinking and actually wait for the answer. I want a moment, a word, a gesture that doesn’t feel like charity. I want to know that I matter. not in the grand, fireworks kind of way. Just in a quiet way. The saved-your-seat kind of way. The remembered-favorite-snack kind of way. The “I was thinking about you” kind of way.

So what do I want?

I want anything.

Anything that tells me I’m not invisible. That I’m not making this all up in my head. That I’m not standing at the edge of a cliff, shouting love out into a canyon and calling the echo yours.

But maybe that’s too much.

Maybe the problem is that you don’t know how to give. Or maybe you do, and just not to me. And I keep showing up like maybe today is the day you’ll look up and see me. really see me, not as a convenience or a constant or a comfortable silence, but as someone worth holding. worth talking to.

what i simply want is:

You asking me a question and genuinely wanting the answer.
A question that doesn’t feel like an obligation.
A look that stays.
A pause that means something.
A single, genuine, I’m glad you’re here.

Just once.

Anything.
God, anything at all.

Subscribe now

hi everyone!!!!!! long time no seee :P i dont have much to say except wooooo!! making my little substack comeback!!! heres a draft thats been sitting on my laptop for months now. i dont know what else to sayyyy! hope you enjoy <3

hi guysss!! ive been delaying this post allll of june and its basically gone by now. anywho, better late than never right? i hope you liked this!! this quote makes me SICK! my birthday is in september so when i came across this quote months ago, it was a stab!!! and what would i do if not write about it :P Besides the whole ww3 stuff horrifed me so i thought id just stop overthinking this publishing thing and put out at least some of the 30+ ready-to-publish drafts i have!!! i love you & thank you for being here <3

Subscribe now

…yeah, no questions guys. take this however you will. this is an amalgamation of a bunch of journal entries i found from like yearsss ago and simply refined because goodness me what was that girl on! anywho. i need to publish more on here. and i shall. i need to stop overthinking. this one is incredibly short but i think it says everything it needs to. let me know what you think!!!! i love you! and thank you for being here <3

the one thing we’re absolutely sure of is that everything is eventually going to end. the concept of infinity is just that, a concept. and unfathomable one at that. humans are wired for limits. there’s always a border. a place where something ends and another begins.

mathematically infinity can be useful. it solves a problem here and there. it finishes equations. but emotionally? it’s all a mess. even thinking about it makes no sense. attempt to visualise it. a straight line that goes on for forever, a road without a terminus. our minds inevitably impose a boundary. there’s a blur at the edges. it’s something so difficult to understand. and yet it’s something I feel all the time.

we locked eyes in the midst of everyone around us getting lost in conversation. the gaze was held and for that single, unspoken second, it felt like the world had paused. my heart had stopped or maybe it had just started. everything else that needed to happen, everything that needed to be said, could wait. because we were there. in that moment together. it may have lasted a couple of blinks, but that, that is what infinity feels like.

there was that moment, just before the bell would ring, when half of us were on the chairs and the rest on the tables. some of us on the floor. and everyone is laughing so hard that i couldn’t even remember who made a joke in the first place. the world out there in that hallway, the next class. the tests. the assignments. none of that existed. it was just the laughter and those people. and it lasted forever. that is what infinity feels like.

driving to the airport. there wasn’t much said on the way or at the gate but i held on. until the very last second. a hug that was too tight and too long but never ever long enough. they turn and walk away, barely even a look back. but i stayed there. glued to the ground unable to move until they were out of sight, and even after. like the goodbye hadn’t even happened, and i could feel myself waiting for it to begin. that finality, that sting of absence i felt all over me, it stretched. that is what infinity feels like.

i stand in front of the crowd. the moment i’ve been dreading all night. regret fills me. fear and anxiety begin to consume me. i clutch the papers in my hands, the spotlights shining so bright into my eyes that it takes me two minutes to adjust. my throat goes dry and i forget everything im supposed to be doing. silence has never felt louder and stares have never felt so sharp. though the time i spent between getting in front of the crowd and beginning the speech took no longer than two minutes, it felt like a lifetime.
that is what infinity feels like.

the first night back home, staying up all night with my cousins, laughing and yelling. dancing and singing. the ludo board in the corner, left there after the ninth match when we just wanted break the tie. we lay on the matresses on the floor, huddled together, laughing at a misread letterboxd review until we literally cannot breathe. suddenly the sun starts to rise and we were supposed to be in bed hours ago. that moment, when we hide under the covers, trying to hold in the tears and giggles, the moment right before we fall asleep, that is what infinity feels like.

this infinite feeling is all around us. the space between two hands that never touched or the weight of love that outlives the body. it hides in the last time you didn’t realise was the last. in the words you almost said but never could.

there are no words big enough for infinity. we borrow from silence instead.
some languages don’t have a word for “forever.” some have five. but even then, nothing we say can hold the full weight of something that never ends. every sentence has a period. every breath, an exhale. even poems, the most infinite of things, eventually must stop. I guess that’s why I tend to leave things unsaid. because I feel silence will stretch further than syllables ever could.

nature wears infinity differently than we do. it doesn’t panic over it, desperately try to understand it. doesn’t try to hold it. the ocean doesn’t care if you can’t see where it ends. the stars aren’t worried about being counted. a tree doesn’t mourn the way time loops endlessly through its rings. there’s a stillness to the way the natural world carries infinity. quietly and eternally.

but the infinity in the human mind is loud. It’s restless. Its thoughts in the middle of the night that spiral without end or a memory you can’t stop replaying. It’s love you thought would fade, but didn’t. that’s the part of your brain that asks what if, what if, what if repetitively until the sun comes up.

the infinity in nature is peace. the infinity in us is noise. we weren't built to stretch that far. but we try anyway.

maybe memory is the reason some things feel infinite at all. in memory, the finite becomes infinite. moments slip through our fingers faster than we can catch them, but memory holds them still. even after a moment is long gone we trap the feeling, the sound, the weight of it inside us and we return to it whenever we need. we live inside of it, giving it a kind of second life. and in doing that, we make it stretch beyond the time it was given. what if that’s the closest we’ll ever get to infinity? not in the moment itself but in the way we choose to remember it.

we talk about forever like it’s a promise. we romanticize it, chase it, wrap it up in gold and ribbon and call it love. but forever doesn’t seem like a blessing. what if it’s too much? if all the good feelings always stay, wouldn’t the bad ones too?

think about the ache of something that never ends. the heaviness of a feeling that refuses to fade. grief that lingers long after the world has moved on. a question with no answer. a goodbye that never comes.

we think of “forever” as a kind of magic, but it can be exhausting. there’s mercy in closure. In the ticking clock. In knowing that something will change, will pass, will be survived. without endings, how do we begin again?

I suppose the real gift is that we get to let go.

that’s the thing about infinity. if it were all we ever had, if every gaze was held forever, if every laugh rang on without pause, if goodbyes never came and memories never faded… would we even notice them?

would a world where every moment lasted forever make any of them feel real? or would they dissolve into background noise, like static too constant to even be heard?

infinity doesn't live in how long something lasts. It lives in how deeply we feel it while it’s here. It lives in the way your heart sped up when your eyes met theirs. In the echo of laughter before the bell rang. In the silence that stretched before a speech, in the sunrise after a night of games, in the hug that tried to stall time itself. that infinite feeling remains within us. changes us.

i think the reason those moments felt infinite is because we knew, somewhere deep down, that they wouldn’t be. that they couldn’t be. that they were slipping from our hands even as we held them.

and i think that’s what makes them beautiful.

if infinity were real, it might mean less. but because it’s not, because everything ends, it means everything.

the miracle isn’t that something could last forever. the miracle is that it happened at all.

thank you soo much for reading! AND! thank you so much for 500 subscribers??? whaaaat! a big kiss on all of your foreheads! mwah! thank you for being here. i love you <3

transport, motorways and tramlines
starting and then stopping

i’ve been on the move all day. not really going anywhere, just… motion for motion’s sake. trains. escalators. stops. empty hallways. my legs are tired but i still don’t feel like i’ve gotten far enough away from everything i meant to escape. i keep checking my reflection in passing windows, hoping it won’t look like me. spoiler: it always does.

and maybe that’s the problem. i keep trying to leave without actually leaving. trying to un-become myself in the same skin. there’s a version of me i think about sometimes. she doesn’t hesitate at crosswalks. she leaves places without looking back. she doesn’t check her phone every two minutes, waiting for a message that won’t come.

she doesn’t flinch when she’s alone.

the emptiest of feelings
disappointed people

i don’t know when it started, this hollow. maybe it’s always been there, growing in quiet little increments. you don’t really notice it until you’re halfway through a conversation and realize you haven’t been listening, or caring, or… existing, really. just hovering behind your own eyes.

it’s not even sadness. i think sadness would be better. this is just…quiet. its all there is. its cold. like watching your breath in the winter and wondering if that’s proof enough that you’re still alive.

the worst part. the part i hate admitting out loud. is that i know i’m disappointing everyone. quietly. slowly. still being here. stuck. i see it in their faces: the slight pause before they respond, the way their eyes search mine like they’re trying to find a version of me they could love. maybe one that isn’t tired all the time. one that doesn’t flinch and freeze at simple questions. one thats kinder and more understanding.

i feel like i owe everyone something. a better version of me. a little more effort. a little more light. but I’m stretched so thin, i think if i said any more I’d split open.
still, i keep trying. keep failing. keep disappointing.

and every time i do, they smile a little tighter. say “it’s okay” with their lips and “you couldn’t do it” with their eyes.

let down and hanging around
crushed like a bug in the ground

God, i tried. that’s the part that stings the most. i really tried. I did the whole thing, woke up every day, put the work in, did all that i was supposed to and with all the right cadence. I did the dance.

And still, it wasn’t enough. i wasn’t enough.

some days, i think i was born to disappoint. like i was built to carry all the right feelings in all the wrong ways.

don’t get sentimental
it always ends up drivel

i’ve started writing this entry four different times. scribbled it all out, told myself no one cares, not even me. but the thoughts don’t leave. they pile up like dirty laundry. eventually, you have to air them out or suffocate.

still feels stupid. to want so much. to feel so much. and for what?

one day I am gonna grow wings
a chemical reaction

i think about disappearing. not dying, just… leaving. a quiet slip out the backdoor of my own life. becoming a waitress in a small town that smells like salt and forgetting what I used to want. maybe i'd grow wings. maybe i’d wake up weightless.

one day im gonna leave. one day. ill walk out those doors and i wont have to look back. there are days when i think the only way out is to rip myself apart, piece by piece, and let the wind carry what’s left. maybe i’d burn through the clouds, leave behind a trail of smoke, and for once, i wouldn’t have to feel
like i’m let-down, just another face waiting for someone to fix it.

I don’t want to be fixed.

i don’t even need happiness. just stillness. a moment that doesn’t ache.

is that too much?

hysterical and useless
hysterical and—

it’s funny, isn’t it? its so funny. the whole situation. how it all ended up this way. every breakdown becomes a punchline. “you’re being dramatic.” “you’re too sensitive.” “shouldve done more.” like I asked to feel everything at once.

i laugh, too. because what else are you gonna do? you cry in the morning, laugh in the afternoon, numb by dinner. It’s a three-act play and you don’t even get an applause.

you know where you are with—
floors collapsing, floating, bouncing back

actually, i don’t really. i don’t know where i am with anyone. not anymore. i used to be sure of people. now i read their pauses like warning signs. silence has teeth.

i keep trying to bounce back. swear i do. but it’s hard when everything feels like concrete. when even your own voice sounds unfamiliar.

let down and hanging around

i’m still here. still standing. still checking the sky like it might open up and swallow me whole. or maybe bless me with a way out. i don’t even know what I want anymore.

maybe just a sign that it’ll be okay.

maybe just anything at all.

Strip us down to our anatomy, and we are all but a collection of cells following the instructions written in strands of DNA and yet. pure survival has never been what we were made for.

We were not designed simply to function, to move through this world unfazed and untouched. We were made to create. To love and to live. To hear a melody and feel it in our bones, to press our hands into wet cement just to say “i was here”, to love so fiercely that it undoes us. A machine exists, so does a body. but a human was meant to live

A baby laughs for the first time, a sound so pure and light that the whole world stops for just a moment. The parents freeze, eyes wide and hearts so full they could burst. And in that instant, nothing else matters. Just proof that joy, in its simplest form, really does exist.

A student hears their name called in class. Heat rushes to their face. The answer is on the tip of their tongue, but their mind has gone blank. The silence stretches. The weight of a dozen eyes settles on them, expectant. A feeling older than fear itself, the terror of being seen.

A football player stands at the penalty line, the weight of the moment pressing heavily on their chest. The world around them, fading. No crowd, no noise, just the rhythmic pounding of their heart. And in that moment, when he takes the shot, for a split second before the ball finds its fate, thousands of people hold their breaths at the exact same time.

What defines us? It isn’t just the way we walk upright or the way our minds build cities or send rockets into space. It’s this. The tiny, fleeting, electric moments of living, the laughter that spreads like wildfire, the nervous breath before speaking, the way we exist together, even in silence, even in seconds.

we are not just flesh and neurone. we are stories and laughter, heartbreak and fear, hope and love. all woven together in this endless, messy, incredible experience of being human.

What makes us human?

Maybe it’s the way our hearts race before we say I love you for the first time. The way our voices tremble when we stand before a crowd, throat tight and hands shaking. The way we sing even when no one is listening, cry even when no one is watching, dream even when we have no reason to believe those dreams will come true.

Maybe it’s the way we reach for each other. How, without thinking, we squeeze a friend’s hand under the table when their voice shakes. How, even in the dark, even in silence, we can sense when someone we love is near. The way we hold hands at funerals, laugh until we can’t breathe, touch the names on gravestones like they might touch back.

It’s the way we ache. For love, for purpose, for something we can’t always name. The way a song can take us back to a moment long gone, how a scent can make time collapse. The way we hold onto the past even as we rush toward the future.

A machine can answer a question. A machine can generate words that sound like love, like grief, like longing. But a machine does not long. It does not ache. It does not look at the night sky and feel small and infinite all at once.

We do.

We are human because we feel, because we hope, because we break and still find the strength to begin again. We are human because we chase meaning, even when we don’t understand why. Because we search for each other in a world that keeps trying to pull us apart.

We write sonnets for our love that has long since left. We build monuments for those who will never see them. We whisper our wishes to the universe, hoping someone might hear them. We dream because to be human is to never be content with merely existing; it is to always, always search for something more.

And when we hear a baby’s laugh, we don’t just hear it; We catch it, cradle it, and carry it with us long after the sound is gone.

That’s what makes us human.

At our core, we are social creatures. From the very beginning, our survival has depended on connection. We are hardwired to seek companionship, to read emotions in each other’s faces, to instinctively comfort those in distress. Studies in evolutionary psychology suggest that empathy isn’t just a moral ideal; it’s a survival trait. Our ancestors who formed strong bonds and who looked out for one another were often the ones who thrived. Loneliness, on the other hand, was a death sentence.

Even our biology reflects this. The brain releases oxytocin, the so called "love hormone," not just in moments of romance, but in the simplest acts of connection. A hug, petting a cat, a reassuring touch. Our nervous systems are literally wired for co-regulation. Like the way you start to breathe a little easier when someone holds your hand. We are built to respond to each other, to find safety in presence, to heal through connection.

This current rise of nonchalance and lack of empathy all around us quite literally goes against our nature. All of a sudden it’s so cool not to care, and basic kindness is somehow a sign of weakness.

We live in a time where apathy is mistaken for strength and vulnerability is something to mock. People are lonelier than ever, and yet we pretend that needing each other is some horrible flaw. We call it self-preservation, but it’s isolation in disguise. This whole cultural shift towards this “Every man for himself” or “It’s not my problem what other people are going through” mentality is so detrimental and starves us from what we require most, love and connection. Humans were never meant to move through life indifferently, never meant to live behind emotional walls so high no one can reach us.

It’s such a foreign concept now that genuine acts of kindness seem so unfamiliar to people. Compliments are so hard to give and to receive. Showing common decency to fellow human beings is somehow weird and "doing too much” all of a sudden. I have this thing where I somehow must befriend just about everyone I meet. Talking to people like we’re already friends, as if we’ve known each other forever, is a force of habit at this point. Because that’s how i’ve always done it. The idea of specifically not being nice to someone solely because you dont “know” them is such a weird mindset to have if you think about it.

I remember being out with a friend at this big event, and i struck up a conversation with quite a lovely and interesting lady at one of the food trucks. Casual and easy, until my friend looks at me after, half laughing and confused after clocking the fact that we infact do not know each other, “Do you just talk to everyone?” As if what had happened was something completely unheard of. But I don’t know, isn’t talking to people kind of the whole point? Aren’t you supposed to communicate as opposed to staying reserved and not giving anyone the time of day because it’s “none of your concern”?

The first steps to being human (in my opinion, might I add) is to care and to be kind and to feel. There’s no use in being kind or attempting to do so if you’re not going to allow yourself to feel anything. Being nonchalant and numb is easy. It’s safe. But it’s not human.

You were made to live. You were made to care and to embrace. Enough with this dispassionate mindset. Tell the people you love that you love them. Not when it’s convenient, not when it’s expected, but now, while you can. Hold onto your humanity, to the rawness of feeling, to the very ache of being alive. Be present and feel everything. Let joy consume you and sorrow shape you. Allow yourself to feel your stomach cramping up as you laugh. Let your eyes sting as they let out tears. Feel the chill as it carries up your spine when you lock eyes with that person. Live and live and live. Live like your life depends on it because, quite frankly, it does.

Hiii!! how is everyone doing? i’ve been writing so much as of recent, but absolutely none of it is even remotely coherent. nevertheless, this topic is one i could go on and on about, specifically the carelessness with which we’re moving forward and the way we’re treating people like they’re disposable. In a world insisting on apathy, I hope reading this made you think. even just a little. i’d love to hear your thoughts on the subject!!! Thank you so much for reading! i love you <3

I watch them all take off, one by one. some spread their wings effortlessly. knowing exactly what is destined for them, carried by a wind that seems to know precisely where it’s meant to go. others struggle at first, unsteady and unsure, but they still lift off and eventually take flight. And then there’s me. feet curled around the edges of the nest, wings stiff at my sides, wondering if I was ever meant to fly at all.

There is a moment, just before the flight, where a bird hesitates. maybe it’s instinct, maybe it’s fear. maybe it’s the quiet realisation that once it leaves the nest, there’s no going back. not really. I wonder if I’m stuck in that moment, stretched between staying and going. Wings aching from the weight of indecision.

II

The weight of all I haven’t done.

This whole past year, my life has felt like it's been slipping through my fingers. Everyone around me, moving out, moving away, moving on. And yet I’m still here, caught in the same place I’ve always been, unable to step forward. I’ve tried to push myself, to make changes, to go after what I want. But somehow, the harder I try, the more it feels like I’m swimming upstream, losing ground with every move. Time blurs together, each year fading seamlessly into the next. I remain standing still, waiting for something, anything, to change. But it doesn’t.

It’s hard not to feel like I’ve missed something. Like there’s a secret everyone else got in on but me. Everyone seems to have it all under control and I’m here with nothing at all. It’s not that I don’t want progress. I crave it. I just don’t know how to get there. And every time I look around, I see people moving on with their lives, finding themselves, taking risks. And I’m still here, looking at my own reflection, wondering where it all went wrong. I did almost everything right. at least, I think I did.

Maybe that’s the problem. I’m always questioning whether I did enough, whether I made the right choices, or if I missed some crucial step along the way. There’s this constant noise in my head telling me I’ve fallen behind and that I should’ve been further along by now. Comparing myself to all those already so far ahead from where I’m supposed to be. I’m measuring my worth by their progress. I know I shouldn’t. but It’s like I’m stuck in this loop, endlessly chasing after something that feels just out of reach, wondering if I’ll ever catch up.

What if I’m just not meant to be where I think I should be? Then again, how long can I keep waiting, hoping that one day, things will just fall into place? The more I wait, the more the pressure builds. I want to believe it’s okay to be where I am, to take my time, but the world doesn’t always make room for that.

III

I think I’m ‘fake smart’

It’s like I’ve built this image of myself, trying to convince others, but most importantly myself, that I’m capable, that I’m sharp, and that I have something valuable to offer. But it feels like a façade. Every time I open my mouth or write something, it’s like I’m waiting for someone to call me out, to prove that I’m not as smart as I pretend to be. I stay up at night, wondering when the truth will surface, when I’ll be found out for the fraud I am. I’ve spent so much time constructing this version of me, so much time trying to keep up the illusion that I’m someone who knows things, who’s on top of it. But deep down, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m lying to everyone, including myself. It’s like I’ve sold myself to the belief that I’m a lot smarter than I am, and now I’m afraid that one day, it’ll all crumble.

I convince myself that I can be something more, but I never seem to measure up. I’m burdened by the fear of being seen as unlikeable, dumb, and unworthy of the things I want to accomplish. I’m terrified of being called stupid, but I can’t blame anyone but myself for that label even existing. It’s a product of my own self-doubt, this idea that I could’ve tried harder, been smarter, and kept track of everything. And yet, I still feel like I’m stuck in this loop of inadequacy, unable to break free from it, watching others move forward while I remain frozen in place.

IV

The pressure of having it all figured out

There’s an expectation. It’s not always spoken outright, but it’s always there. The pressure to have a clear plan, to know exactly what you’re going to do with your life, and to make sure it’s something respectable. Something that fits neatly into the mold of success. Engineering, medicine, law, business. These are the careers people nod approvingly at. If this isn’t what you’re studying, what’s the point of doing it at all? “Don’t you want to be successful?”. These are the ones that mean something. The ones that, in the eyes of so many, justify your existence.

But what about the rest of us? What about those of us who are drawn to the arts, writing, filmmaking, music, and stories that make people feel something? Why are they seen as less than? Why are they seen as hobbies instead of ambitions? There’s this silent weight pressing down, reminding me that choosing these paths is risky, impractical, and maybe even selfish. Why is studying any of these seen as a joke? Something not to be taken as seriously? Does a dream only matter if it comes with a title and a salary?

It’s heavier when everyone around me seems to have their lives mapped out already. They’re going to university, pursuing degrees that “make sense”, following the blueprint that’s been drawn for them since they were kids. Knowing what they’ve wanted from a very young age. I watch them move forward with clarity while I sit here, second-guessing everything. Am I making a mistake? Am I chasing something that will never lead anywhere? The fear isn’t just about failing—it’s about disappointing people. About being the one who never quite measured up. About hearing the inevitable, “What are you even doing with your life?” and not knowing how to answer. And especially about disappointing those who have supported me from the start.

And so, the doubt creeps in. The fear that maybe they’re right. That maybe what I want isn’t enough. That maybe I should’ve been different, should’ve wanted something else. And the worst part is, sometimes I almost convince myself there’s truth in what they’re saying.

V

You’re only 18. you don’t need to have your whole life figured out.

I am simultaneously keenly aware of the fact that I do not need to have it all make sense. I don't need to know exactly what I want to do and where I want to go. I'm only just starting to figure out my place in the world and who I’m trying to be. Life isn’t supposed to be a race. I need to remind myself that everyone’s path is different, and we’re all just trying to figure out our place in this world together. I am aware and I know. It’s just difficult when all those around me have already gone so far.

It’s easy to say that things will fall into place, that I have time, that I shouldn’t compare my path to anyone else’s. But knowing something and believing it are two different things. It’s frustrating not knowing exactly where I’m headed, but that doesn’t mean I’m lost. I remind myself, over and over, that I’m only 18. There’s no rule that says I need to have my entire life mapped out. The world moves fast, and people act like every decision needs to be made now! as if the rest of my life depends on it. But there’s time. There’s always time. I hope there’s time. And maybe instead of racing to keep up, I need to let myself slow down. To let myself grow into who I’m supposed to be, instead of forcing an answer before I even know who I am.

I’ve never believed in the idea that you have to choose just one thing and do it forever. The thought of spending my entire life on a single, predetermined path feels suffocating. There’s too much I want to do, too much I want to create. I want to write stories and make films, to travel and learn, to create and build something that lasts. I want a life that isn’t confined to a single title or a business card. I want a life that isn’t dictated by what’s ‘practical’ or ‘expected.’ I don’t want to be boxed in, burdened by the repetitive confines of everyday life. I want to do it all.

Subscribe now

Anyway, existential crisis aside… I hope you enjoyed reading about my inner turmoil on academic dread! XD. I really appreciate you taking the time to read this. It's something thats on my mind a lot and writing it really helped me process it in different ways, turning all my jumbled thoughts into something coherent. I hope it resonated in some way. would love to hear your thoughts. Thank you for being here. i love you! <3

ps: (subscribe if you’re cool!)

It all ended so abruptly, in the span of a few hours we had become strangers again. if someone had told me back then that you’d no longer be a part of my life, I don’t think I would have believed them. perhaps I would have, in the early days of our friendship, but not after everything. not from where we were. It didn’t take long for your soul to tangle with mine. It happened so quickly, so seamlessly, that it felt as though we’d known each other forever instead of just weeks. it’s weird. I felt you slipping away before you were even gone.

There was no argument, no fight, not even a conversation to untangle what we had built together. It just… happened. one moment, we were us, and the next, we weren’t. The reason for it feels so contradictory; something so small, so petty, and yet, somehow, enormous. a moment seemingly so insignificant in the grand scheme of things, yet it carried the weight of an ending. and while I really do believe the reason we’re no longer friends is valid—understandable, even - there’s still a part of me that questions how something so small could shatter something so strong. if we were as close as we thought we were, as I thought we were, how did we let it happen? how did we allow something so minuscule to wedge itself between us and to pull us apart? yes, it was reasonable. but was it necessary? did it have to happen? I wonder if we could’ve done something different. if we should have done something different. or if some endings are just inevitable, no matter how much they don’t feel like they should be.

I find it really difficult to forget people. I struggle to let them go and move on completely. it feels like I’m perpetually burdened by my past, dragging it around like an inescapable weight. I repeatedly find myself thinking about people from my past, how they’re doing, what they’re up to. if they look the same, talk the same, like the same things. it’s silly and futile to think of these things, especially when I dwell on them for unreasonable amounts of time, but I just can’t help it. I know they don't belong in my life anymore, but they linger in my mind like unfinished stories. I imagine alternate versions of us. different conversations and different endings—as if I can rewrite what's already been said and done.

part of the reason I think it’s so hard to let go of people is that it feels like I'm carrying pieces of them with me everywhere I go. pieces that have now become my own. the way they laughed, the words they said, or the way they made me feel, whether it was joy, sadness, or something in between. it's as if their presence has woven itself into my thoughts and my behaviour, shaping how I see the world, how I connect with new people, and even how i see myself. It doesn’t matter how long it’s been or how far away they are, they remain threaded into the fabric of my days. I see them in the smallest, most unexpected moments; in a familiar scent that passes by, in the brief quiet right after someone else’s laughter, in the way a phrase slips off my tongue without thinking. It’s as though they’ve left their fingerprints on everything I touch. inescapable and seemingly permanent.

I think about you, more often than I’d like. I wonder if you still read & paint & how your brands going. every time I find a new fun hobby I feel the urge to tell you about it. every time I see something cool about something we used to talk about I feel the urge to tell you about it. every time I read a good book or read a good quote somewhere I find the urge to send it to you. I wonder if you feel that too? I wonder how many things around you remind you of me. I wonder if you wish we were still friends or if you cut me off completely the moment it happened. I wonder how far you went to remove me from your life. do you still have pictures of me/of us on your accounts? do you still have the letters I wrote to you? the flowers? the drawings? do you still have the matching bracelets we had? did you delete my comments from your posts or are they still there, ghosts of a friendship that couldn’t stand its course just right?

but I hope you know that I always wish only the best every time I think about you. I always hope you’re okay and your family’s okay. regardless of the person you turned out to be. regardless of what you think of me. those things don’t change the care i had and still have for you. I suppose somewhere deep down, you remember the good parts of us, even while everything else has changed.

you were important to me. you were new, but you were important. you left just as fast as you had arrived. it’s crazy really, how quickly someone can vanish despite being, right there.

friendship breakups suck! stuffs been nagging at me recently and isn’t leaving me alone, so I just had to write it all out. I hope you enjoyed!! would love to hear everyone’s thoughts and opinions on the matter! thank you for reading! I love you <3

very different from what i usually write on here so i hope you enjoyed. wrote this at around one in the morning when i just couldnt seem to fall asleep so its very much just my direct train of thought. thank you so much for reading! <3

Throughout my childhood, certain interactions left a lasting mark on me, traces of which I still carry today. People’s words, how they looked at me, the things they’d say, held great magnitude to who I was, and who I still am. I’m a very expressive person and always have been. But growing up, especially in middle school, whenever I tended to show excitement about something I loved or spoke my favourite things, I found myself often mocked or judged solely for expressing myself. People’s words lingered, sometimes more than I’d like to admit.

There’s this particular weight in knowing that my reactions, my habits, and even some of my fears have been shaped by everything I’ve been through. The way I hesitate before speaking my mind, the way I hold back parts of myself, afraid they’ll be judged or dismissed. these tendencies didn’t just appear out of nowhere. they were built, layer by layer, by past moments of rejection, misunderstanding, or embarrassment. Somewhere along the line, younger me learned that being myself could come with consequences, and it feels like I’ve been carrying that caution in the back of my mind ever since.

I remember moments when simply being myself and openly enjoying the things that mattered to me felt like stepping into spotlights I never wanted. Those offhand comments slowly chipped away at my natural impulse to share. So I grew quieter about the things I loved, wondering if they were worth talking about at all. Even now, there’s a voice in the back of my mind constantly wondering if I’m being “too much” or if my enthusiasm might somehow annoy someone. It’s strange, feeling this tug to keep parts of myself hidden, even though I’m passionate about them and want to talk about them. Yet, I’ve always been somewhat aware that this is wrong. that I shouldn’t feel this way, and I should be confident in who I am. it’s what I’ve been taught all my life. but it’s just something about being brought down so much as a kid that left this lingering fear that, while I really wish it didn’t, still follows me around.

Being afraid is strange, because, the feeling doesn’t shrink when you ignore it. If anything, it finds its way into every quiet moment, slipping into the spaces where I’ve held myself back. each time I let that feeling win it settles in deeper. and somewhere in that process, the parts of me I wanted to keep alive, grow fainter, a little more buried under who I think I’m supposed to be.

But liking who I am means reckoning with both the guarded and the open, the fearful and the unafraid. It means asking myself if I can make peace with the fact that I am a mosaic of these experiences, some of which I wouldn’t ever choose to relive and others I’ll be holding onto forever. It means wondering if I can love the parts of me that are the result of pain as much as I appreciate the parts shaped by joy.

In recent years, I’m so unbelievably grateful to say that I’ve started to find myself beyond the version I thought I had to be. I’m surrounded by people who not only listen but encourage what I love and the things that interest me. And I really hope I can be that kind of person for others, too. Judging someone or belittling what they love is such an awful thing to do. I’d always listen to what someone has to say, whether I know anything about it or not. I’d want them to feel seen, to feel that their passions are worth sharing. it’s an awful feeling to think you can’t share what you love with the people most important to you, and I can’t begin to explain how wonderful it is to have found people who support you and love you regardless of anything else.

Ultimately, I think the question of liking who I am is less about judging my experiences and more about accepting them. it’s about realizing that each moment, even the difficult ones, contributed something to me. It’s about understanding that I am a person in progress, someone who’s still growing, still learning, and still changing. it’s about figuring out who I am first, and not letting anyone else’s words taint who I’m supposed to be. And maybe, for now, that’s enough.

Subscribe now

Hiii!!! happy new year everyoneee! thank you so much for readingg. I hope this year brings a lot more writing for me and I hope you enjoy ittt <33 I love you. and thank you for your time.

I wait for winter more than anything else. the city comes to life in the cold – the streets feel fuller and families are seen gathered in parks wrapped in scarves and laughter. i measure my years in winters. all my favourite memories happen when it’s cold. i look back at the fondest ones and its all surrounded by a soft chill, coats and hot cocoas.

In winter, everything seems magical. the simplest of things—steaming cups of coffee or cocoa, blankets wrapped tightly around shoulders, the glow of a fire next to every outdoor seat of a cafe, become treasures. the nights stretch out seemingly forever, inviting long drives with the windows down, laughter over barbecue grills, bonfires in the desert. It’s a season of contrasts, where for me, even the quietest moments bring a sense of peace and contentment regardless of what im doing.

But winter is also heavy in its quietness. the same stillness that’s calming can begin to weigh on you. mornings feel slower as if the cold is holding you back from the day. getting out of bed—leaving the comfort of the layers of blankets seems almost impossible. the long nights, while beautiful, leave space for thoughts you’d rather not confront. Seasonal sadness creeps in uninvited, like a chill you can’t shake, wrapping itself around you as tightly as your favorite sweater. the melancholy that comes with the winter is unwavering.

And yet, it’s both. the chill of the morning and the slowness of the night. It’s the joy of being surrounded by loved ones on a late night walk, and the pensiveness of feeling distant from yourself in the quiet moments. But winter doesn’t only bring in comfort - it reminds us that life is rarely one thing—it’s an entire blend of joy and sorrow, of wonder and weariness. and maybe that’s the beauty of it, the fact that the hardest of seasons can still bring moments you’ll always cherish.

one of many of my winter posts (hopefully) this one was written on a whim and i decided to publish it very last minute. its definitely not one of my favourites but the others seemed too personal to share just yet. winter is easily my favourite season and while it greets us only momentarily where i live, its a time i cherish like none other.

hope you enjoyed reading thisssss!!! Hopefully the new year will bring more substack publications. thank you for reading, i love you <3

I’m in a constant state of missing everything when it hasn’t even left, completely imprinting it into memory in hoping that it will stay this time. hoping that this is what I'll keep with me. what I’ll remember. instead of that lingering ache that’s left behind after every conversation.

It’s like happiness slips through my fingers, fleeting and fragile, while the hurt lingers like a stone lodged in my chest— heavy, unstable, unshakeable. Every smile fades eventually, yet the pain clings onto me like it’s desperate not to let go, echoing, long after the moments of joy are a mere memory.

Is this overreacting? Am I genuinely too over-emotional? Or do you just make me feel that way?

Though it is exhausting to be tethered to fragments of a past already lived, there’s something deeply human about it. We hold onto memories, fully aware they have drifted into yesterday, yet we cling to them as if they are the very beat of our hearts, as if releasing them would leave us hollow. but what do you do when those memories aren’t the warmth you’re seeking? when they only bring forth a heaviness you can’t escape? We grasp them, even when they hurt, hoping somehow they’ll offer clarity or meaning, yet all they tend to leave behind… is ache.

I fear that it will never leave. That I’ll carry this ache with me forever, that every conversation will be tainted by this lingering dread. Even when I try to force it away, it sits there— heavy, unshakeable, relentless— making me question if I’m simply overreacting, if I’m too sensitive. but how can something that feels so overwhelming be dismissed so easily? Why does it always hurt, even when there is no reason for it to?

This ache isn’t logical, but it is there regardless, feeding that sense of isolation and helplessness that comes with feeling too much.

Maybe this is just how it is, how it’s always going to be. Maybe this gnawing, this constant ache, is something I won’t ever be able to shake. I keep hoping it’ll fade, that one day I’ll have a conversation and walk away without feeling like I’ve left a piece of myself behind. But no matter how much I try to convince myself otherwise, the dread returns, creeping back in, stronger than before. I want to believe there’s an end to this. That theres an escape from the weight I carry. But right now, it feels like all I can do is endure.

Well, here we are. I hope you enjoyed this or resonated with it. this is my first post. i don’t know what I’m doing on here as a publisher, but i’ve used substack as a reader for around two years now and thought I’d “take the plunge” or whatever and start writing so i hope this made sense or whateverr

thank you so much for reading <3